


A Soldier's Death

by Pacifia



Series: Golden Age One-shots [6]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Battles and War, Character Study, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Inspired by Whumptober, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: "Die a soldier's death, not a coward's."Orieus would gladly die for his King.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Peter Pevensie, Lucy Pevensie & Orieus, Peter Pevensie & Orieus
Series: Golden Age One-shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985065
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	A Soldier's Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrokenKestral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/gifts).



It was a simple plan. We would organize a raid on the enemy camp, which was only three miles away from ours, and steal the Queens while the villain, Amastius, and his men were too busy fighting Peter and his troops. I had, of course, refused to be the one that would abandon the fight, and my King. Peter had managed to persuade me saying that the Queens would have a safer escort if I was with them. And I remembered he had taken an oath as a King to be the last to leave a battlefield. I had relented after momentary hesitation. The small battle had taken the form of a war, a bloody one when one of Amastius' men had slipped away to call the rest of their troops from a nearby village. I had been raised in wars. Fought my first one at the delicate age of twelve; I could hardly speak my own name correctly. But the hundred years after my father's last battle against the witch, I had seen gruesome wars, hideous fates of the ones that resisted.

I had seen much.

But Peter, dear Peter, my High King was merely a foal. Little and unprepared for this. To see his soldiers scream and die in front of him, as he continued to fight with all his might, knowing they would not win. He had lost hope and I knew this. I was galloping through the forest with Queen Lucy on my back. Riding a Centaur was rare privilege for humans, but I had no time to tell her that. Nor did I felt worthy to be called one of my kind. One of the noblest beasts of Narnia. I, who had abandoned my High King. I had sent a sparrow East to inform King Edmund, ask him to bring with him more troops. But I knew he would be too late. I wondered, oh I wondered, what I would tell the younger King. I would endure any punishment he would give me. But not the accepting look. And I knew that was what awaited me.

 _Die a soldier's death, not a coward's,_ my father had told me so many times since the Witch had risen out of her den to rule. It was what I had told the ones after me. To the ones that were not steadfast at heart, the ones that I knew would crumble if it ever came to their lives. They would kneel before the Witch. And she would win. My words rarely ever managed to turn their hearts. But when they did, I would sleep with a smile on my face that night. And now, after enduring so much, battling the Witch, and defeating her, I would abandon my oath? My King? My father?

I decided against it, and halted. All eyes turned to me, giving me questioning looks. Hushed whispers echoed through the party. But I gently lifted Queen Lucy off my back and put her on the muddy ground, damp with the recent rain. She and her sister had quickly huddled, recognizing the look I gave them. They understood and without uttering a word, nodded. It was Treximo, the Tiger who broke the silence, saying, "You won't come?"

I replied with a grim smile, "I won't abandon my King. Now, leave. Take the Queens to safety!"

And the Queens mounted their horses. They left with teary eyes. And I watched them go until they were a small dot ascending the Great Western Mountains. And I galloped West.

* * *

With a furious, raging battle cry of "Narnia!", I charged. Conscious that my King was fighting two men on his own, I forced myself to race to the middle of the war, slashing my long sword at the men would come dashing towards me, heads held high, confident they would defeat me. One after the other they crumpled to the ground, faces reflecting agony, and the light in their eyes draining. A blush of pink had touched the sky already, dawn was fast approaching, and that meant the war was about to get more hideous. Seeing the grotesque way in which a faun's leg had been twisted, I muttered a prayer to the Lion, drawing another gash on the man's chest, finally dispatching him. He had lasted for a whole minute, distracting me. And I had not noticed when King Peter left my sight. I spun around but he was gone.

Before I could scream for him, another one of Amastius' men cried loudly as he slashed his sword at me. I had only to jerk back. My hoofs remained affixed on the ground as I swung my sword once above my head and then easily drove it through his flesh. With a final tear leaving his eye, he dropped to the ground. And I wiped my sword clean on the grass. Then, again I searched the field for my King. But again I was distracted by a faun calling for help. A man was ruthlessly dragging him by his cuffed hoofs. A surge of fury filled me, and I raced to my fellow soldier. My sword tore open the bandit as I once again slashed it. I tossed my dagger to the faun, and helped him hide in the small cavity in the wide trunk of the tree around which the battle was unfolding.

I gulped and my eyes wavered from one face to the other, but there was still no sign of the High King. Had I lost him? Had I lost my King? Had I let him die? A foal? Was I to face his brother's sorrowful look, his acceptance, his tears? Was I to face the Queens' grief? My father's disappointed look? I refused to.

To the Griffins circling the sky, dropping heavy rocks at some of the clusters of Amastius' men, I screamed, "Scout the area! Find the High King!"

And once again with the cry, "Narnia!", I charged.

* * *

It wasn't until I saw the High King limp up the slope, wincing in pain from the slash on his last calf, that my heart began beating again. The burden was lifted and my sword went swiftly through the flesh of the bandit's neck; I decapitated him and turned my attention to another opponent that I would facing in seconds. But when I saw the High King not head for safety, but rejoin the fight, limping and barely holding up his sword, I let my guard down. The man crashed his sword with mine that I had barely managed to lift in time. I rotated under my long sword still attached to the blade of the bandit and kicked him in the shin with my hoof, surely breaking it. He let out a cry, dropping his sword. With a simple slash, I had killed him.

I searched for the High King again, and this time found him battling Amastius. I hadn't seen him leave his hiding since the battle started. But now that he had revealed himself we would miss the opportunity. I signalled the archers on the cliff that shadowed our battle, hiding it from the sun. And they drew their bowstrings, the nocks of the arrows held securely in place, ready to release.

And I turned.

To see another bandit, bow drawn, arrow on the string, eyes fiery, ready to fire. And when I followed his eyes' direction, I felt my heart stop. The High King, whose back was now turned towards the sneering enemy, was still battling off the Amastius, oblivious to the imminent threat, the lurking death only a few feet away.

I looked back at the bandit. He released the arrow and I heard my father whisper in my mind, "Die a soldier's death."

But I smiled. I would die not only a soldier, but a protector. And I leaped.

* * *

I had been struck with arrows before, seen them protruding out of my torso, seen my own blood ceaselessly pour out of me, pool underneath me. I had learnt to keep unconsciousness at bay for as long as possible. Learnt to block the pain. But what of my King's scream? How was I to ignore that heartbreaking screech? Calling my name? I felt inclined to go to him, implore him to stop screaming for my loss. The sounds had dulled, muddled around. Battle cries mixed with more screams seemed muffled now. I wished to shift my focus to the pain in my chest. But the pain of seeing my King cry over my body was greater.

Peter's golden face seemed trimmed with the intense light reflecting off his bloodied cheekbones. The blue of his eyes had faded into a sorrow-filled black as he continued to weep over my chest. He hadn't dared take the arrow out. Only now did I realize I was still. I weakly lifted my hand, pressing it onto his hair. He looked up with hopeful eyes, a focused gaze.

"Orieus. Oh, Orieus. You shouldn't have. Just hold on. Please. The Griffins say Ed's on his way. Please. Please, General. Please don't go. Don't leave, Orieus," Peter begged me. But I, hardly keeping my eyes open, clasped his hands in mine.

Wordlessly, I nodded, and smiled at my King. When the shrouding clouds blanketed the sky, and Peter's teary face finally was clear in front of me, I let myself drift into unconsciousness.

* * *

I remember only bits and pieces of the battle. Of our victory.

When I first woke, still on the muddy ground, I caught just a glimpse of Peter cutting through the men with ease. Anger fueled him. Fury led him. And I watched with pride as he battled through so many soldiers twice his age.

The second time I found the strength to open my eyes, I found eagles circling the grey sky, yelling at our soldiers that King Edmund was close. So was victory.

The third time, I wasn't still bleeding out on the ground, but a dryad—I was puzzled to see one so well out of Narnia—had me in her care, cradling my face in her wooden arms, whispering soothing words. But my heavy eyes drooped again. And darkness pulled me in.

The fourth time, my pain had receded and I was sitting with my back against a tree. The clouds were still hiding the sun, and seeing the wet ground—pooled with water mixed with blood—I wondered if it had rained. The younger King's relieved voice echoing in a distance, repeating his brother's name, made me smile as I once again drifted off into the world of obliviousness.

The fifth time I woke, I was on a large cot and the sun's light was filtering through my eyelids. My legs were in an odd position, crushed beneath me, knees crooked. It was an uncomfortable place but I didn't mind. I fluttered my eyes open to find the same dryad hovering over me. I tried to get up; I never liked to be weak. But the dryad held me down, assuring me that I was alright. With the growing pain in my torso, I didn't know if I could agree with her. She fed me a bitter liquid and it wasn't long before I was asleep again.

When I woke for the sixth time, I heard whispers. Concerned and choked. "Will he make it?" That was Peter's voice.

"But he has to!" the younger Queen's voice cried. "I could give him my cordial! Peter, please!"

After seconds of silence, I saw the High King's shadow behind the flaps of my tent nod decisively. And the two sovereigns entered. I could not see Peter's look of relief for Queen Lucy had just jumped onto the narrow space left on the cot. I was surprised when she embraced me. As a soldier, I had not been taught to be affectionate.

"Oh, praise Aslan! Thank you! Thank you for coming back, Orieus!"

Peter only silently nodded at me. I could read his eyes. _Thank you._

* * *

King Peter had told me his brother and sister had led the battalion to finish off the rest of Amastius' men. He had told me all that had happened in the battle. King Edmund had journeyed swiftly. And it was because of him that we won. The Queens had formed an infantry at the foot of the Western Mountains—they had refused to leave after they heard that their brothers were losing the battle. And that was where I was resting. When I finally found strength enough, I lifted my sore body of the large cot. And walked out of the tent.

Peter found me first, conversing with the Captain. "Orieus! You should be resting. Please!"

But I merely laughed. "I am fine, High King. I haven't even the need to wear my bandages."

Peter gasped, glancing at my bare chest. "Orieus, but your wound—"

"—has healed."

Peter conceded with a sigh. "You shouldn't have taken the blow for me, General. You almost lost your life," Peter said with guilt.

"I would have died gladly. For my King," I said, smiling.

Peter breathed out heavily. "If you had died, Orieus, we would have been lost. Thank you. Thank you for holding on." He smiled. "Then tonight, we shall celebrate our triumph over Amastius. And your recovery."

He gave me a quick, awkward hug before sprinting off to the infirmary where his sister was.

I smiled as I watched him go.

 _Die a soldier's death,_ my father had taught me so many years ago.

He had taught me how to die.

I was only now learning how to live.


End file.
